


Ben's Body

by shewhospeakswiththunder



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Ben Solo is a Mess, Ben Solo is a nerd, F/M, MCU makes a cameo, Nude Modeling, Past Abuse, Sculptor!Rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 20:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18630877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhospeakswiththunder/pseuds/shewhospeakswiththunder
Summary: For the prompt:"AU. Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked."





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TeaFiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaFiend/gifts).



> Hello, all! Please mind the tags, as there are some references to historical abuse in this piece, and some may find it triggering. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading.

An enormous chunk of white marble had been sitting smack dab in the middle of Rey’s studio apartment for weeks now, and she had no idea what to do with it.

Until, that is, the afternoon she finally saw her next-door neighbor.

He was a recluse, by all accounts, and utterly silent. It would have been natural to arrive at the conclusion that nobody actually lived next door, but the hand-written name on the mailbox in the apartment building’s entrance stubbornly continued to read,

Ben Solo

#302

 

…and she was #304.

Rey had been stolidly battling a month-long creative block, broken only by half-hearted charcoal scribbles and a few lazy hours of watercolor. The hunk of untouched stone taking up the majority of her living room stood as a testament to her frustrations, a bitter metaphor for the unrelenting hard stop of creativity that sat heavy on her mind.

She was a success—finally, _finally_ able to make a living from her art, a wild dream come true for a nobody who had guts enough to go to art school. Her passion lay in sculpting but, early on, Rey had the foresight to maintain a larger repertoire, and liked to flatter herself as a bit of a Renaissance woman.

It was Thursday morning when Rey decided that what she needed to revive her muse was a generous dose of retail therapy - that delicious satisfaction only provided by purchasing brand-new art supplies. She returned much later, arms laden with multiple plastic bags and a fresh coffee from her favorite café down the street and, as she juggled her baggage to finagle her keys out of her purse, she saw _him_. And promptly dropped the keys.

_That’s the one._

It was as if all the free-floating pieces of her creative consciousness suddenly settled into place with a solid _thunk_ , and her mind had already started whirring with possibilities: the broad slope of his shoulders, the musculature of his forearms, that incredible profile!

This was the man she was going to sculpt.

And then he was gone, vanished. Across the threshold and hidden away.

Fumbling through the grating rustle of her shopping bags to get her key into the lock, Rey finally burst in through her own door, throwing the already forgotten art supplies to the floor. She bee-lined to a halt in front of the nefarious white rock that now sparkled softly, delicately reflecting the mid-morning sunlight.

It was never about what _she_ wanted from the marble, being less about hacking away at a stone and more about allowing what had always lain dormant inside to breathe. A gentle coaxing, a loving conduit to guide it out into the light.

Rey had saved up for this stone for ages. It was a huge piece of superior quality marble and, now that she had her own place with the right amount of natural light, she had found it especially disheartening when she couldn’t figure out what to do with the thing.

Now, she knew.

All she had to do was convince one social hermit of a man to pose naked for her.

How hard could that be?

 

* * *

 

It was significantly harder than she had initially thought.

Her first plan went disappointingly awry. Desserts, she had decided, were a sure-fire way to initiate a conversation. What man in his right mind would refuse free freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies?

While Ben Solo had not declined the neighborly gift, and had in fact eyed the cookies rather eagerly, he had refused to participate in any subsequent pleasantries.  He’d promptly shut his door with a muttered “thanks” before Rey could get another word in edgewise.

And so, it was back to the drawing board. Rey wracked her brain for ideas. How does one ‘meet’ one’s next-door neighbor?

Laundry room reconnaissance was summarily scratched due to impracticality. Who knew when the guy did his laundry? Fire escape espionage was _absolutely_ out of the question because it was simply...well, creepy. She was sure to get caught ‘hanging out’ by the mailboxes, and initiating a building-wide ‘Meet Your Neighbors!’ event would take far too much time and effort; anyway, she doubted whether such a quiet, reserved person as Ben Solo would even deign to attend such a thing.

The evening shadows cast by adjacent buildings began to creep across the hardwood floor like a torpid stain, and Rey was nowhere closer to befriending Ben than yesterday. She sighed heavily as she uncorked a new bottle of red wine, resigning herself to drinking alone on a Friday evening. Again.

It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Without realizing what she’d decided to do, and not taking the time to think it through, she abruptly backed her stool away from the breakfast bar, wine bottle still in hand, grabbed two crystal stemmed glasses and marched out of her apartment. Right up to _his_.

Rey had never considered herself a particularly _bold_ person, but she didn’t let her resolve falter as she carefully transferred the stemware into the same hand that held the bottle before rapping on his door. The man never seemed to leave his apartment, but she found herself hoping against hope that he was home. And that no one would enter the hallway and witness her desperate state.

There was no answer.

She tried again, smarting her knuckles by knocking a little louder this time. But, once again, there was nothing. She splayed her palm against the cool door and bent to rest her forehead on it. She should have expected this.

Why was it so hard to talk to even one person in this city?

She had always battled with loneliness, which seemed to continually lurk in the darkest parts of her psyche. Most days she could ignore it, stoically distracting herself with this or that activity, but it never left.

Rey had made the conscious decision to leave London to attend art school in the Americas, but it hadn’t been easy. She had left behind dear friends and, while her career had begun to blossom beautifully, she missed them dearly. The friends she’d made in school had moved away, back home or to bigger cities, and Rey had found herself very much alone.

As she stood, fighting valiantly against the onset of self-pity, the door suddenly opened inward, causing her to stumble forward ungracefully and she barely stopped herself from slamming into all six-feet-plus of Ben Solo.

“Oi!” she shrieked, scrambling back with as much elegance as she could muster, which was to say none at all. “I’m so sorry!”

Ben looked every bit as startled as she was, but merely stared at her in complete silence.

“Um, hi,” she started lamely, feeling a fresh blush warm her cheeks. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over for a glass of wine. With a friend.” She held up the evidence in her hand.

“We’re not friends,” he rumbled, not unkindly; his deep voice sent a little chill scattering up her spine.

Giving him a weak smile and a shrug, she said, “Not yet.”

He considered her with furrowed brows and her heart fluttered wildly under his scrutiny. What a _compelling_ face, such a strong nose, his expressive mouth—how was she going to live with herself if he said no?

“Sure.”

“Really?” Her heart soared, and she found herself babbling. “Yes, er, come on over! I didn’t actually expect you to say yes, not that I think you’re antisocial or anything, but…” She chuckled nervously, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I’m just… right here,” she said, pointing to her half-open door.

 

* * *

 

Ben was swirling the dark red wine in his glass silently, wearing a tense grimace on his face and dwarfing Rey’s tiny kitchen in comparison. She’d guessed he’d be a reticent conversationalist and, while she’d hoped she had assumed incorrectly, she’d actually been completely right.

It was awkward, and Rey sensibly decided to break the tension by starting first.

“My name is Rey.”

“Ben,” he replied to the glass in his hand. The stemware looked flimsy in his chunky grip, and Rey couldn’t help but ogle at the corded blue veins there. His fingers, his thick wrists! How was it that even his _hands_ could be so eye-catchingly masculine?

“It’s nice to officially meet you. But, I have a bit of a confession to make— I have an ulterior motive for inviting you over.” This earned her a fleeting glance, but his gaze returned almost immediately back to the burgundy liquid in his glass. “I’m an artist,” she pushed through, doing her best to keep a friendly smile on her face, “and I wanted to know if you’d be willing to model for me.”

Something shut down inside him, and it was like a switch had suddenly been flipped. The awkwardness bracing his frame seemed to shift into a tense defensiveness, and she felt her heart speed up at the suspicious look he now gave her.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No! No, of course not, I really am an artist! Here,” she blurted, scrambling for a piece of her artwork to prove herself. Her hand landed on one of her pitiful charcoal drawings from the day before, and she rigorously berated herself for not having the forethought to have her professional portfolio at the ready. “This is just an example, but I’m a sculptor at heart, and I want to use you as a model for my next marble piece.”

His eyes flicked over to the out-of-place white slab sitting rather obviously in the living room, but he remained totally silent. She had to convince him somehow, and it was now or never.

“This is a weird thing to say to basically a perfect stranger, but,” she set her glass down on the countertop, “you have a great body. I think it’ll look spectacular in marble.”

“You want to… sculpt me.”

There was no missing the stunned incredulity in his tone. “Yes. I can compensate you for your time, too. Not much, but still.”

Clearing his throat, he managed with some degree of difficulty to get out, “Would it be…nude?”

Ah, the sticking point.

“Er, yes. But it wouldn’t be _about_ that. There’s a difference between just a naked guy with his junk out and artwork that explores the beauty of the masculine form.” She knew she was floundering and felt the blush creeping back into her face. Wringing her hands and biting her lip, she pushed on. “So, my vision for this piece is a true-to-life rendering. No embellishments, nothing really changed—just you. The sculpture itself would be scaled down a bit, just because you’re… well, you’re quite large.” She swallowed and tried to refocus. “And, the size of the stone, of course. Your hair would be a little... _stylized_ ,” she let her eyes rove over his soft-looking raven locks, which hung almost shoulder-length, “but only because of the constraints of the medium.”

She was met with more silence.

“Are you familiar with ‘The Creation of Adam?’”

When she received no reply, she grabbed her phone and searched for the image, turning the screen around for him to see. He nodded. “Look—you see his… his penis, but that’s not what the piece is _about_. It would be more like that.” She locked the screen and set the phone back down, afraid she was losing him. “Please say yes. You really don’t have to do anything, just sit there.”

His disbelief and shock hung heavy in the space between them for what felt like an age. When Ben finally cleared his throat as if to speak, Rey clumsily interrupted him in her panic, thinking he was about to refuse her.

“This is something special. I think _you’re_ special, I think you’re perfect for this.” Her heart squeezed painfully in anticipation.

Ben studied the charcoal piece in his hand, and Rey felt a fresh wave of regret that she hadn’t thought to show him her portfolio first. But she was now too afraid of scaring him away to retrieve it.

“Do you paint?” he asked.

The question surprised her. “Yes…?”

“Could you paint something for me if I do this?”

“Like, instead of being paid?” She struggled to keep up with the turn the conversation had taken.

He nodded, still studying the paper in his hand.

Rey considered the possibility, and found nothing to disagree with. “What would you want me to paint?”

“Me. As the Winter Soldier.”

“The what?”

“It’s… it’s a character from comic books. A couple movies.”

She vaguely recalled seeing a trailer for a comic book story that had been made into a live action movie, and repeated in utter astonishment, “And you would model for me if I paint that for you?”

Without meeting her gaze, he nodded his consent.

“I—yes! Yes, I’ll do it!” Rey struggled to get her words out. “Wow.” She breathed, hardly believing what she was hearing. “Er, it’ll take a couple sessions. I’ll want to do a few studies of you, sketches of your face and hands, that sort of thing. How soon can you start?”

“How soon do you need me?” Now it was his turn to blush.

“Tomorrow?”

Another silent nod.

“Can we say, ten tomorrow morning?” Rey suggested, trying to tamp down the excitement bubbling up inside her.

This elicited another nod.

Without too much more back and forth, Ben left, without having had a single sip of his wine.

Rey, for her part, was ecstatic, and a gave a small, gleeful scream after he exited – once she heard his door close, of course. She hadn’t been this happy in a long time.


	2. Execution

“What other mediums do you like to use?”

Rey looked up from the rough study of Ben’s upper body she’d outlined in her sketchbook - her focus was currently trained specifically on the lines connecting his shoulder to his neck. It was the first of many sketches she would do to familiarize herself with all his planes, angles, and curves.

For this first session, Rey had allowed him to remain mostly clothed, only having him doff his t-shirt and asking him to sit casually across the breakfast bar from her. He had a gorgeous quizzical scowl at rest and she was positive he was oblivious to just how sexy it looked, but it softened as his neck and cheeks turned a brilliant pink.

It was obvious how much his attempt at conversation had cost him in terms of bravery, so she answered him quickly.

“I’ve been doing a lot of outdoor murals recently, commissioned by the city. Do you know the big sunflower on Adams Ave, across from the courthouse?” He affirmed with a nod. “That’s one of mine. It was perfect timing, really. I moved here just after the city was awarded that grant for the ‘Downtown Beautification’ project.”

Her response merited a brief glance from him, warm with appreciation. Sensing his desire to keep the conversation going, as well as his clear inability to maintain small talk, she continued to chatter amiably.

“I did several others before coming here, though. One even made national news.” She paused her sketching to retrieve the news article saved to her phone, handing it to him. “It was commissioned in honor of International Women’s Day.”

Rey felt a flash of pride as she remembered the day she won the contest, for what had been her best mural work by far; ‘Good Morning America’ had even featured a brief segment on it.

“I would do them all for free if I could. If I didn’t need to live off my work,” she added, a little ruefully. “This world is ugly and cruel enough, I just want to add a little light and happiness to it while I can. However I can. Maybe someday I’ll be able to do it for free, or donate my earnings money to charity or something....” she said wistfully.

Sensing the weight of his gaze in her periphery, she glanced up at him but he quickly averted his eyes.  Maybe it was just her, but she could have sworn he was smiling at her.

Later that evening, long after Ben had gone home, Rey found herself drawing his face over and over, obsessed with the pouting line of his mouth, and the way errant strands of dark hair would fall across his pale forehead.

He was beautiful.

* * *

 

In the next session, Rey began to play with clay. Sketching was a good way to learn him but she now had to fashion his likeness out of raw material, and it was a challenge she eagerly anticipated.

Ben’s nose proved to be more difficult than she had bargained for. She worked the clay, unable to capture its bold, blunt angularity in just the right way, and sidled up to him, staring, studying, memorizing the fine details, the small beauty marks that dotted his skin…

Their eyes met for just a moment.

Rey’s breath hitched, and a pulse of electricity shot through her, a single charged second that forced her backwards, with a furiously pounding heart.

As she resumed her seat on the stool across from him, she noticed his shoulders rising and falling as though his own breathing had deepened but chose to say nothing. Instead, she redoubled her effort with the clay.

Before he left, she made sure to remind him what to expect the next day.

“Tomorrow we’ll be starting with the pose I have in mind. So… nude. Okay?”

He nodded, taciturn as usual, and closed the door softly behind him.

* * *

 

And then, it was the fateful day. When Ben arrived, knocking gingerly at the door, Rey answered it brightly in the hope it would set him more at ease.

She understood that modeling naked was new and probably more than a little embarrassing for him, but she was far beyond those feelings herself. She had seen, drawn, and sculpted more naked bodies than she would have cared to admit, and today should be no different.

Except that, for some reason, it was.

She did her best to respectfully restrain a giggle when Ben emerged from her bathroom, barely-clothed but still not quite fully naked. He was still wearing his boxers, while the rest of his clothes lay limply in a pile on the floor.

“Er, _naked_ , Ben.”

A blush rushed up his neck and into his cheeks, a sight that was becoming more familiar to Rey by the day, but he dutifully slipped off his underwear, dropping those, too, in a wad on the floor.

Inwardly, Rey had a good-natured chuckle at his awkwardness, finding it more endearing than anything else, but that chuckle died in her throat when her attention was inevitably drawn to his manhood.

Her mouth suddenly had the consistency of sandpaper and her understanding of the term ‘well-endowed’ was now forever changed by the sight of Ben Solo’s jaw-dropping body… But she managed to school her face into an expression of grave professionalism, despite the blush rioting across her face.

She hastily instructed him into the desired pose on the make-shift dais, constructed out of rough particle-board for the purpose. For his comfort, she had added pillows and a soft blanket.

Her vision, from the moment she had first seen him, was similar to Cabanel’s ‘Fallen Angel’, a reclining pose with left arm draped across a bent left knee just so, but with a more casual feel - none of the deep rejection and sharp anger of the famous titular angel. To Rey’s utter delight, Ben assumed his deliciously aloof scowl without any prompting and she couldn’t help but let herself drink in the view.

Quietly setting about her craft, she molded, pressed, pulled, and shaped the wet clay with her adept fingers, gradually manipulating it into his form. It hadn’t crossed her mind until then, but she felt deeply grateful that the chosen pose hid his private areas and that she wouldn’t have to sculpt those.

Once she had pulled the basic form from the clay, she turned her attention once more to his face.  After a few attempts at his jaw, she decided that the angle of his chin was just slightly too far down, so she brusquely wiped the wet clay from her fingertips on her apron and strode over to reposition him. She didn’t think twice about reaching for his face and, when she did, he flinched, hard.

Rey reared back in surprise, wrenched instantly from her state of unadulterated focus by his reaction, and watched in confusion as he seemed to curl defensively, fists clenched and knees flexed protectively into his chest. The room had fallen painfully silent save for the sound of his heavy, ragged breaths.

Rey panicked slightly, unsure what to do, but something told her to remain where she stood and not back away any further. The lines of tension on his body told her he was fighting to do the same as he battled with some kind of instinctual fear.

“Ben?” she voiced softly, tentatively. “Are you okay?”

He gave her a signature nod, but it was too terse. It was a lie.

“You don’t have to do this, you know. We can stop anytime.”

A more truthful nod this time, but his chest still expanded and contracted roughly. His tight fists began to relax and he opened his eyes.

“Do you want to stop?”

With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he adjusted himself back into his prior position, hand over knee, right leg extended. When his hands had fully unclenched, Rey spoke.

“Could you angle your chin up just a bit?” He complied, but it still wasn’t right. “May I?”

With another nod of silent assent, she reached out slowly this time, taking his chin lightly with her fingers and lifting it. As the dried clay on her fingertips rasped lightly against his skin, his nostrils quickly flared at the contact, his eyes pinching shut as he waged a secret, internal war with something Rey was unable to name. She couldn’t tell if it was discomfort, anger or otherwise, and remained wary.

A little shaken, Rey called the session to an end shortly after. As Ben made his way to exit, mercifully clothed once more, she made a point of speaking.

“Ben?” He stopped, his hand hovering over the door knob. “It’s none of my business, but I want this to be a safe place for you. I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“Please tell me if anything I do makes you feel uncomfortable,” she said earnestly and, as he nodded, a bittersweet relief flooded through her. “Tomorrow? Same time?”

Another wordless nod, and he left.

However, he did not remain silent for long. Once he was safely back inside his own apartment, the first thing Rey heard through the thin walls was the door slamming, followed by an inarticulate cry of frustration. She could imagine him standing there, hands fisted anxiously in his hair, but then the crashing of furniture and violent yelling ripped her attention from one disturbing image to another.

She stood immobile as she was forced to listen to his rage, and compassion welled in her heart. From bitter experience, she knew of only one thing that could make a person that volatile and angry.

_Fear_.

* * *

 

Pent-up energy propelled Rey out into the evening air of the city, unable to stay cooped inside one minute more. At first, she had no destination in mind, other than to walk off some of the discomfort that had been gnawing at her belly after that morning’s session but, remembering a comic book store that she always passed on the way to her favorite Thai restaurant, she directed her restless self there.

It was high time she did some in-the-field research on this ‘Winter Soldier’ character, particularly given the day’s interaction with Ben. She had every intention of painting his commission, even if he decided not to uphold his end of the deal after the earlier disaster. It was the least she could do, after putting the poor guy through hell.

The store was intimate and clean with a cheap bright green carpet, and Rey instantly liked it. She took her time browsing through the Marvel section, which happened to take up almost half the store, and as she leisurely perused, she discovered that the Winter Soldier character had quite the interesting story. Darker, sometimes masked and sometimes not, but emotionally bruised and almost always conflicted and desperately lonely.

Choosing one comic that featured him as a main character, she flipped it open and froze, her brain subconsciously telling her she had missed something important on the cover. Closing it once more, she realized at once what it was.

_‘Art by Ben Solo’_.

“That little shit,” she breathed, loud enough for the clerk to pick his head up from the comic he was reading and eye her with light suspicion.

Emotions tumbled inside her. Lighthearted frustration, deep unnameable sadness...Strong fondness. Who exactly was this man, to elicit so much _feeling_ from her? Since when did one person consume this much of her waking thought?

She bought the comic and laid her plans.

* * *

 

“I was thinking we could just… hang out today. Order a pizza,” Rey said before Ben could make it to the bathroom to disrobe. “I’ve got something I want to show you, anyway.”

She had decided the night before that they needed a break, a brief respite to ease whatever weird tension had crept in between the gaps of their relationship since yesterday.

“Okay,” Ben replied, genuinely surprised. “What is it?”

“I was doing a little fieldwork yesterday,” Rey explained as she opened the small plastic bag sitting on the kitchen countertop. “And I discovered, _sir_ , that you are a big fat liar!” She whipped the damning comic book out of the bag and held it up with a goofy grin.

He shrugged, and the first smile she had ever seen from him lit up his face. “You never asked.”

“No… you’re right. I didn’t,” Rey admitted, still grinning. “What else should I know about you that I haven’t thought to ask, Mr. Solo? If that even _is_ your real name.”

He gave another noncommittal shrug and leaned against the counter. “I do freelance graphic design as a side gig.”

She rolled her eyes when he failed to elaborate further. “I guess that’ll have to do for now,” was all she said.

The pizza was amazing, the ice cream they shared afterward sinfully good, but the best part of the day was the light-hearted conversation that flowed surprisingly easily between them.


	3. Finale

They agreed to give Rey Monday to herself, to allow her some time to work on his painting.

She had drawn his face too many times to count now but, with this piece, she was meticulous. Every stroke, every caress of brush to canvas, was reverent; each interplay of light and shadow a solemn, holy study. From Ben’s unwittingly expressive features she drew out every old hurt, every begging question, every half-forgotten memory that haunted this Bucky Barnes’ dreams. The loneliness, the pain, the loss.

He had a mechanical arm, and Rey tackled the chrome texture with fervor, breaking into her brand-new paints, buoyed by the simple joy it brought.

She didn’t finish it in one sitting. She never could—there was always something that needed improving, after a good night’s sleep and giving the piece a chance to rest. However, she was surprised at just how much she managed to accomplish in one day, having entered that blissful state of focus in which the world outside seemed to melt away, where it was just her and her colors, creation and vision melding into one.

Entire days could be spent like this, in that delicious high of absolute concentration and the happy certitude that she was doing exactly what she loved. It was with a sense of regret that Rey realized the light of day was at its end, when evening rudely stole into her apartment and marked the end of her productivity. There was no better lighting than the sun.

She took a step back. The painting would need to rest, but it was good.

* * *

 

The slight rays of morning caressed Rey’s face and hair, waking her early as contentment warmed her from the base of her belly to the tip of her heart.

She didn’t even allow herself breakfast before she tackled what remained of Ben’s painting. One last touch here, a stroke of light there. It was so right.

Before she heard the telltale knock signaling Ben’s arrival, the hours had passed with an agonizing sluggishness as her anticipation dragged out each minute intolerably.

She turned on the TV and turned it off. She scrolled through her phone and locked the screen at least ten different times. She regarded her marble slab with her hands on her hips, picked up her chisel and hammer and put them back down. There was nothing for it—she was useless until Ben showed up.

And when the time finally arrived and his rap was heard at the door, Rey’s heart performed a barrel roll inside her chest.

He graced her with a bashful nod before making his way to the bathroom, but she stepped in front of him. Curiously bashful herself now, she led him to her easel, over which she had daintily thrown a light floral sheet. Carefully slipping it off, she watched him hawkishly as he drew nearer, his eyes widening with each step.

At first, he let his gaze rove over the painting, with little other expression by which to judge his reaction. Rey knew that he always chose his words deliberately and sparingly, but he was so quiet for so long that she began to worry. As she inched closer, ready to voice her concern, he suddenly whirled on her, every feature ablaze with intensity and a devouring stare that seared her alive.

He advanced, his hulking frame towering over her, and her heart stuttered as he firmly cradled the back of her head, weaving his hands through her loose hair, and  _ kissed _ her.

Nothing could have prepared her for this response, the earnest force with which his mouth dragged across hers, the taste of him—and she melted into it, knees almost buckling, her entire reality coalescing to one point of fact: Ben’s mouth, moving on hers. And how fucking amazing it felt.

His free hand was now splayed on her ribs, and she felt the whisper of his touch on the underside of her breast, forcing a needy gasp from her. Ben sprung away, releasing her as if stung, breathing hard and looking like a wounded animal.

Rey’s head was spinning, and she was breathing fairly hard herself, but one coherent thought made its way to the forefront of her mind: she absolutely did  _ not _ want it to stop.

Ben bolted for the door.

“Wait!” she wailed, and he froze. Every instinct in her screamed to make him stay, to not let him out of her sight until they kissed again, or until he touched her, or even until they had at least talked about things, damn it! Her next instinct was panic—what if he left and never came back?

This man, who now occupied this special, fragile place in her life, was about to walk out of it, and the thought was instantly unbearable and unacceptable.

This all occurred to her within the space of one second and then passed, like the ebbing of an ocean wave, and the hideous fear threatening her airway subsided. She took a shaky breath, picked up his painting with trembling hands, and offered it to him to take.

“Don’t forget this,” she said.

He took it and rushed out.

Rey stood stock still, then slumped into the barstool at the breakfast bar and lay her head in her hands as her racing thoughts grappled with the overwhelming events of the day thus far. It might have only been ten in the morning, but Rey found herself reaching for the bottle of bold, spicy red she’d been saving for a special occasion. This occasion certainly counted.

Opening her utensil drawer, she tried not to rue the fact that her bottle opener was the first and most easily accessible item in it, when Ben barged back into her apartment.

His hair was a damn mess, but it was the dark yearning in his eyes that caught Rey’s immediate attention, and the second time that day that Ben strode toward her and kissed her soundly. Which she happily reciprocated.

He took her lips to his like he had been drowning and she was his first breath of life-giving air, a savage desperation fueling him, igniting a twin blaze in her.

Pulling away at last, allowing them a necessary but not entirely welcome pause for breath, he stayed intoxicatingly close to her. Rey slowly reached up and tucked a piece of his messed hair behind his ear, then held her hand against his cheek.

He leaned into her palm, almost groaning as his brows pinched together as if in pain.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

* * *

 

Fine sprays of white powder puffed out from the edge of Rey’s chisel as it met marble, each hammer blow to the tool’s blunt end performed with a long-practiced accuracy.

Mornings and afternoons, lately, had been spent in such a way: her chisel carving and shaping, every shaved notch releasing another breath from her stone.

Evenings belonged to her and Ben— they were for learning each other, for discovering each new way they could be together and, maybe, fall in love.

Each night was filled with the promise of a tomorrow to look forward to.

It had never been about what  _ she _ wanted from the marble. It was all about what the rock already had hidden away, patiently awaiting the freedom only granted by a skilled hand and a passionate heart. It was about helping to break through the layers of coarse, unyielding stone so that the beauty inside could finally be delivered into the light of day—

—and breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks are in order:  
> [@colliderofhadron](https://colliderofhadron.tumblr.com/), for beta-ing this piece on such short notice. She is stellar.  
> [@clara-gemm](https://clara-gemm.tumblr.com/), for the amazing artwork I commissioned for this piece. Truly, one of the best in the business.  
> My husband, for the MCU idea, and making Ben a bit of a nerd.  
> The Writing Den community, because you all are so helpful, so supportive, and it is my pleasure to be a part of it.


End file.
